Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (31 page)

“Almost everyone is in the field, except for Jerrod. Abby’s staying with Jackson and Alexa tonight.”

“Perfect.” He couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Jerrod was a former US Marshal; if anyone could track Simmons down and keep him in his sights, it was the newest member of their team.

“I’ll call him and have him park his ass outside Simmons’ house until we get some of this figured out.”

“Thanks. I’m calling Rogers.”

“I’ll take care of Owens on this end.”

“Sounds good.” He hung up before Ethan could respond and immediately dialed the detective.

“Detective Rogers.”

“Rogers, it’s Tucker Campbell. I’ve come across some new information in Staci’s case. I think we may have a person of interest—name is Jonathan Simmons. He currently resides in Los Angeles, but his family had a home here in Park City at the time of Staci’s death.”

“Name sounds familiar.”

“You’ll find it in your files. He and I didn’t get along. His family was questioned briefly after my sister’s death, but nothing came of it. I spoke with JT Cartwright just now—another former summer resident of the area and friend of Staci’s and mine. JT said he spotted Simmons lurking around our property on the first anniversary of Staci’s death.”

“I don’t remember seeing anything about that.”

“He never reported the incident. It bothered him some, but he forgot about it. If we want to connect past and present and go with the theory we discussed earlier, he still fits. Wren decorated his family home approximately six months ago in LA. Another childhood friend of mine, Nick Pellerin, said he spotted Johnny in town on more than one occasion recently. We have several points that add up and a motive.”

“I’ll call Franklin into the station.”

“If it is Simmons, he’s either still in the area or on a flight putting some distance between himself and Park City.”

“We’ll get an APB out on him right away, check with the airport and local hotels here and in Salt Lake. I’ll also contact Detective Owens out in Los Angeles.”

“Sounds good. I’d like to go up to the house tomorrow—one last time before Wren and I head home. I want to piece all of this out and make sure it fits. It might be best if you and Franklin come along. We’ll all be on the same page should there be any follow-up after I’m back in LA.” He wanted to make sure things were done right—and the backup wasn’t a bad idea if Johnny was still in the area.

“I guess I don’t have a problem with that. Never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes. Why don’t you plan on having us ride along?”

“I’d like to head up around nine if that works for you. We’ll have plenty of time to run through the ME’s reports, make sure everything plays, then get to the airport.”

“All right. We’ll meet you in the lobby at a quarter to nine.”

“See you then.”

Tucker opened his laptop once more and rewound the video surveillance Rogers gave him, watching the man as he went down the steps in slow motion. Was that Johnny Simmons? Did he really kill Staci and the others?

His phone alerted to a text from Jerrod.

Parked outside Simmons’s house. He’s nowhere to be found, but his wife and kids are watching a Disney movie. Should be an exciting night.

It didn’t surprise him that Simmons wasn’t home. It was hard to be in Los Angeles and Park City at the same time. Tucker responded.

I owe you one.

He rewound the video footage again, scrutinizing the man in black’s movements, trying to catch some small gesture that reminded him of the kid he hadn’t seen in almost fifteen years. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Everyone was doing what they could at this point, and he needed to go to bed.

Frustrated, he closed his laptop and stood, stretching his tensed muscles. He couldn’t afford to pull another all-nighter. Grabbing his pillow and blanket, he quietly opened the bedroom door and entered slowly, trying not to wake Wren. She didn’t want him in the room, but she was going to have to deal. She would be rid of him soon enough.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped. “Taking the recliner.”

“There’s a couch in the sitting room.”

He removed his holster. “Yeah, but I’m still in charge of your protection.”

“We’re on the fifth floor. He isn’t coming in through the window.”

“We’re going to make sure.” He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, slid out of his slacks, and settled in the chair, pulling his feet up and stretching out.

Dim light filtered in from the kitchenette, and they held each other’s gaze in the shadows. He wanted to go to her, to wrap himself around her. “Cooke, I don’t want it to be this way.”

“I do.” She rolled over.

He stared at her long wavy hair against the pillow, trying to accept the fact that he and Wren were finished.

Chapter 21

W
ren stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a large cotton towel. She used her hand to wipe away the film on the mirror and stared at her pale cheeks and dull eyes as she stood among the wisps of steam. Was this what heartbreak looked like? Was the sickening dread churning in her belly what if felt like? And this overwhelming need to cry. She’d been mopping up stray tears since she backed her way into the bathroom last night. She thought she’d wept herself dry as she sat on the toilet seat, running a steady stream of water in the tub, hopefully masking the worst of her weakness. But the tears kept coming, coursing down her cheeks as she lay in the big, lonely bed, staring into the dark long after Tucker had settled himself in the chair.

He’d said he didn’t want it to be this way as his voice and eyes radiated with misery, but his actions had spoken for themselves. Why did he have to lie? Why did he make a promise he had no intention of keeping? Sniffling, she pressed her hand to her lips, willing the next crying jag away. She hated this—
hated
it. Being in a relationship—even for so short a time—had made her weak and weepy. She’d let herself depend on someone other than herself—one of so many mistakes. Well, no more. This wasn’t how she handled things, and she wasn’t about to start now. It was time to be finished with this silliness and move on. Tucker wasn’t everything. Or he shouldn’t be.
Wouldn’t
be, she amended as she straightened her shoulders and grabbed her brush, pulling the bristles through her hair. She just had to make it through the next few hours, then she would never have to see him again.

Her movements slowed, and she dropped the brush to her side as she thought of waking another morning without Tucker holding her or his lips never capturing hers. The sheer emptiness left her reeling
.

What was she
doing
?
She set her brush down with a snap. Tucker was just a man. There were a million more out there. This didn’t have to be a big thing. She reached for the doorknob, then stopped. But it
was
a big thing. He told her he loved her, and maybe she loved him too—desperately—but how could she pretend everything was okay? He’d hurt her. She never wanted to feel like this again—like the world was falling out from under her. He’d promised his trust, and she’d given hers. He’d agreed to full disclosure and never followed through. Any building blocks to something more were irreparably eroded. There was more to a relationship than love, and Tucker couldn’t give her what she needed—plain and simple. So that was the end. Time and distance would take care of the worst of the pain.

Bolstered by her own thoughts, she opened the door and stepped into Tucker’s scent. He walked past the kitchenette doorway, talking on his cellphone, barefoot in snug blue jeans and no shirt, his hair still damp from his shower. She clenched her teeth against the violent longing to run her fingers over smooth skin and muscles, to hug him close and hang on. He was doing that on purpose, walking around shirtless—being too damn
sexy
. She turned away in defense, grabbed the outfit she’d forgotten and hurried into the bathroom. Today she would need every ounce of confidence she could muster if she was going to fight against Tucker and herself. It was time to put “relaxed Wren” away and step back into the real world. She was hours away from going home and starting over. Things had been different for a little while. She had let her guard down, and her career hadn’t mattered quite so much. But it mattered now—more than ever. Interior design had seen her through tough times before, and it would again.

Craving to get back to the life she understood, she slid on her frilly black panties and put on the matching bra. Her cranberry colored cashmere sweater came next, then snug dark-wash jeans. She applied a soft application of makeup, playing up her eyes. She blow-dried and styled her hair and suddenly the vulnerable woman vanished and the ambitious career woman was back. “Much better.”

Steadier, she gathered her items and stepped from the bathroom far more prepared to deal with the long day ahead. She zipped her cosmetic bag in her suitcase, sat down, and pulled on heeled brown leather boots. The extra inch added to her stingy height, boosting her confidence further. She took a deep breath and stood, smoothing down her top as she started toward the kitchenette. She paused in the doorway, meeting Tucker’s eyes. Her stomach lurched and her heart slammed in her chest as she continued to the counter, perusing the small selection of bagels and muffins delivered fresh each morning.

“Let me call you back. Okay. Bye.” Tucker hung up.

Wren reached for an oversized blueberry muffin, pulling back, too riddled with nerves to eat. She darted Tucker a glance, realizing he was staring at her. She pressed her lips firm, steeling herself, and turned to face him.

He leaned back in his chair, his long leg resting on the bench—the picture of relaxation, except for the clenched jaw and tensed shoulders. “Morning.”

She clasped her hands, hoping he couldn’t tell they were trembling. “Good morning.” Swallowing, she took a step closer to the counter as he continued to hold her gaze.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“Uh, yes. Fine.”

He nodded.

Biting her lip, she turned back to the breakfast selections.

He stood, unfolding his powerful body from the chair, and started toward her.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a rush, backing up, slamming into the counter.

He paused. “I’m grabbing a muffin. Rogers and Franklin are coming by in a few minutes. We’re going up to the house before we head to the airport.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to the cool granite counter top, trying to pull herself together. “Sorry.” “Professional Wren” wasn’t handling this situation any better than “vacation Wren” had.

Big hands rested on her shoulders, and she jumped, whirling, staring up into hazel eyes, realizing she should have stayed facing the counter.

“Wren, please let me explain.”

She breathed him in and itched to touch, to taste, to vanish the last twelve hours from her memory, but facts were facts. To give in now meant losing herself, and she was all she had. “No.”

He stepped closer.

She pushed at his chest. “Leave me alone. Please.”

He captured her hands and pressed her palms to his heart. “Don’t make me walk away from you.”

To her horror, her eyes filled.

“I made a mistake.”

“Stop.”

“Wren—”

There was a knock at the door. Tucker immediately dropped her hands and reached for his gun on the table.

“It’s Detective Rogers,” came a muffled voice.

“Step back,” he said as he peeked through the security hole and opened the door. “Detective.”

“I’m early. I know we said we would meet in the lobby, but I thought I should tell you Franklin called in sick—flu bug going around.”

“We were just getting ready.” Tucker opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

“Good morning, Ms. Cooke.”

Wren blinked her emotions back. “Good morning, Detective.” She gave him a small smile, grateful for the distraction. “Can we offer you coffee and a muffin?”

“Oh, no, I’m all set.” He patted his rounded belly. “My wife made a fine breakfast—still stuffed, in fact.”

She nodded and looked at Tucker. “I guess I’ll go get my stuff.” She hurried away and picked up her suitcase as her cellphone rang. She lunged across the bed, reaching the side table, grabbing the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Wren?”

“Yes.”

“Wren it’s Clayton Mills from Clayton Designs.”

She rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in
months
.”

“It’s certainly been awhile—the Rodeo project we collaborated on.”

“We knocked their socks off.” She grinned.

“We absolutely did. I’m going to cut right to the chase, Wren, and ask you if you would like a job here with us. I could hardly believe it when I saw your resume on my desk.”

“Yes, well—”

“I heard about your situation.”

She winced. “It’s been difficult.”

“I spoke with Lenora Cartwright myself. Luckily I rarely believe a word that comes out of her mouth.”

“But others might.”

“Perhaps, but then they’ll see your work. I want you here, Wren. Top salary, full benefits as soon as you’re available.”

She pressed her fingers to her temple, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Clayton Designs was one of Southern California’s top firms. “How can I possibly say no? Yes, of course I accept. I’m heading into LA tonight. I plan to spend a few days with Patrick and my brother and his family, but I’m all yours Monday morning.”

“I was sorry to hear about Patrick.”

She’d always wondered if she’d sensed a sexy vibe between Clayton and Patrick. “Thank you. He’s making improvements every day. I’m hoping he’ll be raring to go sooner rather than later.”

“You’ll have to be sure to tell him I said hello.”

“I’m stopping by the hospital tonight. I’ll be sure to give him the message. He loves having visitors.”

“Maybe I’ll make a trip down.”

She smiled. “I think he would like that.”

“Okay then, well, I’ll scan the necessary paperwork and send it over; we’ll get the ball rolling. I also have a couple of projects I would like your thoughts on. Do you mind if I send those along as well?”

“No, no, please do.” Her system revved with excitement. “I have several of my supplies on hand. I’ll get started right away.”

“Sounds like we’re all set. Welcome to Clayton Designs. My staff and I look forward to helping you settle in here in Santa Barbara.”

“I can’t wait. I’ll have some mockups for you by this evening, and I’ll see you Monday morning. Santa Barbara or bust.”

Clayton chuckled. “I can already tell we’re going to make history together.”

“You better believe it. Bye, Clayton.” She hung up, laughing as she fell back against the mattress. “I can’t
believe
this.” There was so much to do—mockups, packing, home sales, Patrick… First she would start with a call to Greta. She caught site of a movement and scrambled up, realizing Tucker was in the room.

He pulled his snug black sweater over his head as they looked at each other. “Sounds like you’re off to Santa Barbara.”

She nodded. “Yeah, Sunday night.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She’d already told him she couldn’t be with him, but somehow this felt like goodbye.

“We should go. Rogers and I want to check out a couple new developments.” He grabbed a pair of socks and picked up his duffel bag, turning to leave.

Her enthusiasm for her new job vanished as a wave of loneliness overwhelmed her. She suddenly didn’t want to work for Clayton or move to Santa Barbara. She wanted the man walking out the door. “Tucker.”

He stopped.

What should she say? I love you, but I don’t know if I can trust you? “I—I’ll be ready in a second.”

“Okay.”

She clutched the edge of the bed as tears tried to escape again. Time, she reminded herself, would make this horrible ache go away. Her phone rang, and she ignored it. But what if Patrick’s nurse was calling? She snapped the cellphone up, looking at the readout. Greta. “Hello?”

“We’ve got an offer.”

“That’s excellent—”

“Full asking price, plus payment for furnishings—everything but the master suite.”

“
What
?”

“I got a call from the bank this morning. Some lady wants the house. She’ll pay cash.”

She shook her head, certain she didn’t hear that right. “Cash?”

“
Cash
,” Gretta confirmed. “She wants all papers signed by Thanksgiving.”

“Good heavens my head’s spinning.”

“I understand.”

“But what about the eager couple?”

“They haven’t called me back yet.”

“Who is it? Who wants my house and everything in it?”

“Honey, I have no idea. All the banker would say is she’s some old rich eccentric. She saw the pictures of your place on my website and has to have it.”

She hated the thought of some stranger having her things, but maybe this was for the best. This was her chance for a completely fresh start, and the extra money her furniture would bring wasn’t a bad thing. “I guess—I guess she can have it.”

“I’ll call the bank now. You’ll be staying with your brother for awhile?”

“Until Sunday evening.”

“I’ll get some appraisals on all saleable items, and I’ll drop the papers by tonight or tomorrow at the latest, and you can look everything over.”

“Great. I have two more requests.”

“Name it.”

“I don’t want the bedroom furnishings either. I would like to give them to charity—whichever foundation you prefer.”

“Okay. I’ll arrange for pickup today, if you’d like.”

“Sounds good.” She would never be able to sleep on the bed some sick man had touched. “Also, I accepted a position with Clayton Designs. I’m going to need an apartment sooner than we thought.”

“You’re head
must
be spinning.”

“I want my new home to be right, so I don’t mind staying in a hotel for a couple of weeks until we find what I’m looking for.”

“I’ll get right on it. I’ll e-mail you what I can find currently available.”

“Thanks.” She hung up and stood.

Tucker stuck his head in “Cooke, we need to go.”

“All right.” She shook her head, still trying to take it all in.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. My house… My house sold.”

His eyes grew wide. “Already?”

“I know. I can hardly believe it.”

“Guess you’re on a roll.”

“I guess so.” So why didn’t she feel like it?

Tucker drove up the steep road long since cleared after the last snowfall. He took the sharp curve, moving ever closer to twenty-twelve Mountain View, more than ready to get this over with. The next hour or so was bound to be hell while he and Rogers dissected the ME’s reports, replaying his sister’s final horrifying moments exactly as they happened—or as closely as they could estimate while they stood around Staci’s old room.

Even with Johnny Simmons officially in police custody after a surprise seven-thirty a.m. LAPD swoop, Tucker wasn’t about to miss this opportunity to see for himself that the authorities hadn’t missed any vital details. Until hard evidence was found or DNA results came back officially placing Simmons at the scene, he would continue on with his investigation.